Clocks

Racing against backward clocks
I see it slipping away
Like water through finger tips
When it hits the clay
 to bone,
He soften his edges
But one look in your eyes
He turns to stone
Still solid inside,
 He solemnly pledges
But even the strongest foundations
Can crack at the seams
When time comes to theive,
All thats left is our dreams
Copyright © | Year Posted 2025

Poem

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